Page 33 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Peggy said you had what it takes. Just be damned careful.”

“I will. Don’t worry, Boss.”

The line went dead. Irene put down the receiver and sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the very convincing illusion that was Oliver’s office.

What are you concealing behind the scenes, Magician?

She got to her feet, crossed the room, and yanked open the door.

“What’s up with the dress and the shoes?” she said.

Oliver was standing in front of Elena’s desk, reading a typewritten letter. He looked at Irene.

“Mrs. Firebrace in housekeeping suggested that you might not have anything to wear to the Paradise Club this evening.”

“It’s just an interview,” Irene said. “If I wear a cocktail dress and heels, people will get the idea that I’m your date for the evening.”

“That’s the plan,” Oliver said.

“What plan is that?”

“After we are seen together at Pell’s club, people will assume that the management of the Burning Cove Hotel does not consider you a threat to the hotel or its guests.”

He had a point, Irene thought. There was, of course, the very realpossibility that people would think she had allowed herself to be seduced by the owner of the Burning Cove Hotel, but so what? As far as everyone in town was concerned she was just a small-time reporter chasing a Hollywood gossip story for a third-rate paper. Pretending to be Oliver’s date for the evening might be a very useful cover.

“It could work,” she said.

Elena turned away very quickly and concentrated on inserting a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter. But Irene was pretty sure she had caught the glint of amusement in the secretary’s dark eyes.

“It’s all about creating an illusion,” Oliver said. “One that will distract the attention of the audience from the real purpose of your visit to the club. It’s called misdirection.”

“I get to be the magician’s assistant for the evening, is that it?”

It was Oliver’s turn to look amused.

“That’s it,” he said.

Chapter 14

Oliver Ward was waiting for her in the lobby of the Cove Inn. Irene paused at the top of the stairs and allowed herself a few seconds to deal with the impact he made on her senses.

He wore a white dinner jacket, a white shirt, a perfectly knotted black bow tie, and dark trousers with the ease of a man accustomed to formal attire.No surprise there,she thought. He had, after all, spent his first career onstage.

The aura of cool, controlled power and masculine grace should have been undercut by the ebony cane, but the effect was the opposite. The cane served notice that Oliver was a survivor.

She started down the stairs, intensely aware of a little rush of heat and a pulse-quickening flicker of excitement. She reminded herself that she was not going out on a date. She was working on an assignment. Nevertheless, she was suddenly very, very glad that she was wearing the clothes that had been given to her as compensation for her ordeal in the spa.

The dress was fashioned of midnight blue silk cut on the bias so thatit glided over her curves and flared out around her ankles whenever she took a step. Combined with the stacked-heel evening sandals and the light wrap, the overall effect hit all the right notes—California casual infused with a subtle touch of Hollywood glamour.

Dresses this lovely and this expensive were called gowns, Irene thought. It was a fantasy gown designed for a fantasy evening in the fantasy world that was Burning Cove. When she got the dress home to her little apartment in L.A., it would go to the back of her closet because she would probably never have another occasion to wear it.

She reached the foot of the stairs and paused because she could have sworn she saw some heat in Oliver’s eyes. He smiled and took her arm.

“I see the dress fits,” he said.

Mrs. Fordyce folded her arms on the front desk and regarded Irene with an appraising expression.

“It’s lovely on you, dear,” she said. “But your handbag rather spoils the effect. Where is the little beaded bag that came with the dress and the shoes?”